Her words did gather fury as they ran, And as mock lightning and stage thunder, With firework flash and empty rataplan, Make schoolboys wonder, So thrilled thro' fools her windy words. No sword Of truth her right hand twirl'd, But one bad Poet's scrawl, and with _his_ word She bored the world. * * * * * In 1832 Tennyson published another small volume of poems which contained that beautifully classical piece of blank verse _Œnone;_ _The Sisters_, _The Palace of Art_, _Lady Clara Vere de Vere_, _The May Queen_, _The Lotus-Eaters_, _The Dream of Fair Women_, and _Margaret_, all of which have been so frequently parodied that selection is indeed difficult. The following parody of Tennyson's, _The Sisters_, was _apropos_ to a division in the House of Commons, relative to the vexed question of marriage with a deceased wife's sister, and appeared in _The Tomahawk_. MATRIMONIAL EXPEDIENCY. They were two daughters of one race: One dead, the other took her place; Brotherly love? oh! fiddle-de-dee! The _Noes_ were but one forty-four; I'm backed by retrospective law; Oh! the _Ayes_ were two forty-three! Who'd run a tilt 'gainst common sense? I married for convenience; Brotherly love? oh! fiddle-de-dee! 'Tis wiser th' ills we _know_ to bear, Than run the chance of worse elsewhere; Oh! the _Ayes_ were two forty-three! Twice married--but I'm bound to state Th' expediency of this is great; Brotherly love? oh! fiddle-de-dee! I'm now no worse off than before, I only have _one_ mother-in-law, And she's one too many for me! * * * * * A good many years ago a little volume, entitled "_Carols of Cockayne_," written by the late Mr. Henry S. Leigh, (who died June, 1883) had considerable success. It contained a number of Ballads and Parodies, and amongst others two amusing imitations of Tennyson (they can hardly be styled _parodies_), the first is in answer to the Laureate's somewhat bitter attack on a lady entitled "Lady Clara Vere de Vere:--" The Lady Clara V. de V. Presents her very best regards To that misguided Alfred T. (With one of her enamell'd cards). Though uninclin'd to give offence, The Lady Clara begs to hint That Master Alfred's common sense Deserts him utterly in print. The Lady Clara can but say That always from the very first She snubb'd in her decisive way The hopes that silly Alfred nurs'd. The fondest words that ever fell From Lady Clara, when they met, Were "How d'ye do? I hope you're well!" Or else "The weather's very wet."